11/22/63 полностью

“Who am I to stand in the doorway to history?” I said.

“What? What did you say, George?”

“Nothing, hon.”

“Maybe you better not call me that.”

“Sorry.” (I’m not.) “What exactly are we talking about?”

“You and me and whether or not that still makes an us. It would help if you could tell me why you’re in Texas. Because I know you didn’t come to write a book or teach school.”

“Telling you could be dangerous.”

“We’re all in danger,” she said. “Johnny’s right about that. Will I tell you something Roger told me?”

“All right.” (Where did he tell you, Sadie? And were the two of you vertical or horizontal when the conversation took place?)

“He’d had a drink or two, and he got gossipy. We were in his hotel room, but don’t worry — I kept my feet on the floor and all my clothes on.”

“I wasn’t worrying.”

“If you weren’t, I’m disappointed in you.”

“All right, I was worried. What did he say?”

“He said there’s a rumor that there’s going to be some sort of major deal in the Caribbean this fall or winter. A flashpoint, he called it. I’m assuming he meant Cuba. He said, ‘That idiot JFK is going to put us all in the soup just to show he’s got balls.’”

I remembered all the end-of-the-world crap her former husband had poured into her ears. Anyone who reads the paper can see it coming, he’d told her. We’ll die with sores all over our bodies, and coughing up our lungs. Stuff like that leaves an impression, especially when spoken in tones of dry scientific certainty. Leaves an impression? A scar, more like it.

“Sadie, that’s crap.”

“Oh?” She sounded nettled. “I suppose you have the inside scoop and Senator Kuchel doesn’t?”

“Let’s say I do.”

“Let’s not. I’ll wait for you to come clean a little longer, but not much. Maybe just because you’re a good dancer.”

“Then let’s go dancing!” I said a little wildly.

“Goodnight, George.”

And before I could say anything else, she hung up.

I started to call her back, but when the operator said “Number, please?” sanity reasserted itself. I put the phone back in its cradle. She had said what she needed to say. Trying to get her to say more would only make things worse.

I tried to tell myself that her call had been nothing but a stratagem to get me off the dime, a speak for yourself, John Alden kind of thing. It wouldn’t work because that wasn’t Sadie. It had seemed more like a cry for help.

I picked up the phone again, and this time when the operator asked for a number, I gave her one. The phone rang twice on the other end, and then Ellen Dockerty said, “Yes? Who is it, please?”

“Hi, Miz Ellie. It’s me. George.”

Maybe that moment-of-silence thing was catching. I waited. Then she said, “Hello, George. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? It’s just that I’ve been awfully—”

“Busy, sure. I know what the first week or two’s like, Ellie. I called because Sadie just called me.”

“Oh?” She sounded very cautious.

“If you told her my number was on a Fort Worth exchange instead of Dallas, it’s okay.”

“I wasn’t gossiping. I hope you understand that. I thought she had a right to know. I care for Sadie. Of course I care for you, too, George… but you’re gone. She’s not.”

I did understand, although it hurt. The feeling of being in a space capsule bound for the outer depths recurred. “I’m fine with that, Ellie, and it really wasn’t much of a fib. I expect to be moving to Dallas soon.”

No response, and what could she say? Perhaps you are, but we both know you’re a bit of a liar?

“I didn’t like the way she sounded. Does she seem all right to you?”

“I’m not sure I want to answer that question. If I said no, you might come roaring down to see her, and she doesn’t want to see you. Not as things stand.”

Actually she had answered my question. “Was she okay when she came back?”

“She was fine. Glad to see us all.”

“But now she sounds distracted and says she feels sad.”

“Is that so surprising?” Miz Ellie spoke with asperity. “There are lots of memories here for Sadie, many of them connected to a man she still has feelings for. A nice man and a lovely teacher, but one who arrived flying false colors.”

That one really hurt.

“It seemed like something else. She spoke about some sort of coming crisis that she heard about from—” From the Yalie who was sitting in the doorway of history? “From someone she met in Nevada. Her husband filled her head with a lot of nonsense—”